


Unmake the Bed

by Chromat1cs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Compliant, Epistolary, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Marauders' Era, Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Pre-Relationship, Pre-War, Roommates, Very Gay Accidental Feelings, accidental feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 18:10:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16815805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromat1cs/pseuds/Chromat1cs
Summary: Remus is out on assignment and Sirius is getting stir-crazy, and writing a letter might help with some of the more squirrely feelings boiling up in all this quietude.





	Unmake the Bed

**Author's Note:**

> My partner is out of town, and so my own internal drabbling turned into actual drabble. lol I don't know either. Hope you enjoy a brief little "blorp" of feels-y content ^^;

R,

I do hope you’re enjoying your time away. Well, as much as you can. I’ve found the bed is very much easier to make without you, but that’s not a convenience I prefer.

I’m writing with the rest of that bourbon in my belly, the one you wanted to throw out and said I probably shouldn’t drink because perhaps it’s gone off? I don’t think it’s gone off. Well, if “off” means “into Sirius Black’s liver” then yes, it’s gone off. It tasted fine at least—not as delicate as when you pour it over those silly rocks of yours you keep in the freezer, who’s idea was that? Plopping a stone into drink, absolutely barbaric. You’re a barbarian. I barbarian who wears cardigans. I just drank straight from the bottle.

I’m thinking about the bed again, because it was disastrously easy to make this morning. It seems you’re the one that tosses and turns the most, because all I had to do was yank up my end of the duvet and fluff one of the pillows. One! There were three there and I only used one! You’ve put bad habits into me, Moony, although I think one of them took the place of your shoulder because it was all longways and I woke up with my face pressed against it. I also had to shut the window in the middle of the night because it got cold without all that bloody heat you radiate. It seems you buffer more than just my worst characteristics nowadays. (By the way, I actually cooked a full meal last night without you. Are you proud of me yet? Don’t answer that.)

I’ve been trying to fill all the silence in this flat with music and other noise, I’ve actually taken to humming little tunes to myself when I least expect it. I suppose seven years of a dormitory followed directly by shacking with you had ruined my ability to be truly alone, can you imagine? Try telling 10-year-old Sirius he’d dislike the sound of some bloody peace and quiet someday. He’d have laughed, and then asked you what the bloody hell were you doing in his mother’s house without an invitation. Eurgh. What a little nark I used to be. Thanks for not hexing me too badly back then, by the way.

AhhhhHHHH I’m getting tangential now and waxing all sentimental and todgy, don’t you hate it when that happens? I can see your expression now, that little smile of yours that says “I want you to shut up, I really want you to shut up right now but you’re so devastatingly handsome that I can’t bear the thought.” That’s got to be what goes through your mind, right? Blink twice if I’m right. Good, I thought so. I hope America is grand, I’ve never been. What does Dumbledore need you to do there, by there way? Are there very many of your sort over there? Never would have thought to ask. I’ll have you know nearsightedness is a crowning achievement of mine.

Ordinarily here is where I’d tell you about how the last five days have been a bit grey and sort of nerve-wracking and very quiet, but I won’t bore you with the details. I’m actually bathing, thanks for asking, I’m not in complete degeneracy mode quite yet—give that another two days. You’re back in three days, aren’t you? Good. I’ll have begun talking to the wallpaper by then.

I don’t want to get romantic. I’m already writing longer a letter than I had planned, which might not even reach you wherever it is you are on that godforsaken continent, but again; bourbon, belly, etc. etc. etc. I’m trying a new thing where I let myself feel feelings. Do you think I wear it well? I’m not quite sure yet. All I know is that I miss you well and proper, and so I’m telling you I miss you well and proper because it feels like trying to swallow a pincushion when I think of keeping that in. So. I miss you. Well and proper. You feel very far away right now, and I don’t like thinking of you in any sort of situation that isn’t Completely Safe And Warm And Protected By A Very Large Black Dog. Not that you need protection, per say, but. You know. Again; bourbon. Belly. Etc. etc. etc.

You say sweet things to me when we drink together and I just want to return the favor really. I honestly don’t want to put too many incriminating things of that nature in here lest somebody intercept it, not for the risk of revealing because I’m quite sure all of Europe knows I’m bent as a hairpin and you’ve never minded for showing any proclivities besides the one covered with fur—it’s more of a vulnerability thing? I suppose? I think I’m only trying to say that I’m in dire need of that very specific feeling of your lips on my neck, that part between the tendons and the throat where you always manage to find my pulse, and I believe I’m going slowly mad without it. Bring your lips back with you when you’re home, yeah? Daddy needs his fix.

Merlin fucked, I just called myself “daddy.” I now give you express permission to burn this letter after you’re finished reading it.

I suppose I should wrap things up now that I’ve sufficiently embarrassed myself. It’s raining and I’ve nowhere to go today, so I think I’ll work my way through Geordie’s discography since you’re not here to whinge about it. If you’re whinging about it right now all across the Atlantic, sorry, can’t hear you over the glorious racket of Brian Johnson making me forget that it feels like half my heart is missing right now.

Whoops. This is the Muggle ink. Can’t erase that. A bit much even for me, even for trying this new “talking about feelings” piece. I’m not going to apologize because it’s true, but you know.

I’m going to try and stop thinking about you for a little while because I know you’re fine—you’re capable and traveling with a few others and you’re brilliant, so you know what you’re doing. You’re going to come home in one piece and I’m going to make you tea when you arrive and I’m going to spike it heavily, because I feel like you might need it. I’ll make sure to buy more bourbon, don’t you worry. You can tell me about the trip or not, your call.

I’ll look forward to having to expend a bit more effort on making the bed soon. Truly, it’s like I didn’t realize all the lovely parts of this flat you take up until you haven’t been here to take them up over the past few days. There’s probably a soppy little proverb for that somewhere but I can’t be fucked to dig it up right now.

Write back if you’re able, or if you want to, doesn’t have to be long—fuck knows I didn’t expect this one to get so long, but I guess I had more to say than I thought. Isn’t it funny how things just pour out when I’m not able to say even stupid little inanities to you in the kitchen each day?

Be safe, Moony.

See you soon,

Love

FUCK I keep forgetting this shit doesn’t erase, get your hands on some bloody wizarding ink when you're back!!

Damn it.

Well it’s there and I’m not about to write this whole screed again, so I may as well just own it and quietly hate myself until you get back to talk about it.

Love,

—S


End file.
